


These Small Hours

by LiquidLobotomy



Series: A Good Man Goes to War [3]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Abuse, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pathonia’s bad parenting skills, Platonic Bedsharing, flashback scenes, have tissues handy, white roses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:27:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27136600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiquidLobotomy/pseuds/LiquidLobotomy
Summary: Do yourself a favor, lad. Don’t let him get caught up in his unfailing loyalty to the crown, else you’ll be leaving roses on the grave next to hers.Set between Chapters 7 & 8 of Demon’s Run**EDIT** Made a correction to the end of Chapter 4 - the last scene is to be moved to the beginning  of Chapter 5, apologies to those who have read it already.
Relationships: Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw, Mathias Shaw/Edwin VanCleef [mentioned], Other Relationships, Taelia Fordragon/Anduin Wrynn
Series: A Good Man Goes to War [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1923286
Comments: 45
Kudos: 33





	1. Pathonia’s Wrath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _A constant reminder of where I can find her  
>  A light that might give up the way  
> Is all that I’m asking for  
> Without her I’m lost  
> Oh my love, don’t fade away_  
> Recommended Listening: Reminder - Mumford & Sons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally supposed to be a one shot, but it’s turned into a bit of a beast to do in that format, so I’ll be chaptering it out. Luckily posting should be quick as I have half of the piece done anyways. This is the product of my non-WoW Bestie and I digging through some deep and heart wrenching rabbit holes on WoWpedia during my research on Demon’s Run.

Trading in secrets, trading in lies, operating on the fringes are all a Spymaster knows. His lost love is gone, crushed under the weight of her own duty and unfailing loyalty to the Crown, until nothing is left. Nothing, but pain.

The pain of keeping a dead woman’s secrets.

But perhaps, just maybe, he can use those dark secrets to save another from sharing his lonely fate.

###

Waltion Freemore raced across the Trade District in a panic. He nearly ran into a guard, muttering empty apologies as he fought against the tears that welled in his eyes. He had to get to Old Town. The ciphered message that was slipped under his door just couldn’t be true, but it was written in _her_ hand. It had to be a cruel joke. This couldn’t be happening.

He dashed across the bridge that connected the two districts and sidestepped a beggar crouched by the gate, feeling his heart thudding against his chest. As soon as he entered the red-roofed quarter, he ducked through the central alley, scrambling to get to the small parcel of flats. He stumbled across the threshold, feeling like he couldn’t get to the apartment fast enough, like his feet were made of lead. 

Finally, he made it to the door marked number seven, the one without a bell. His trembling hand found the handle, thankful that it was unlocked as he burst through. He stopped just inside the doorway, finding Pathonia glaring hollowly into the fire stoked in the hearth.

“Tell me this is a mistake, Path,” he rasped as he approached her. “Tell me it’s not her.”

“She’s in the catacombs of the Cathedral if you want to see for yourself,” she said hollowly. 

Waltion choked back a small sob, one of his worst nightmares come true. “What happened?”

“She was given an assignment and she failed,” she replied, lifting her head towards him but not quite looking him in the eye. 

Waltion could do nothing but stare at her as a realization came to him. “Who was the target?” he asked with trepidation. Pathonia turned back to the fire, the glow dancing across her eyes. “No. Tell me you didn’t.”

“I had no choice, Waltion. He was a traitor who was selling information to enemies in Stranglethorn. The order was passed directly from the Crown. She was my most competent operative, she was the closest to him, and it was _her_ decision to defy me.”

“She was our _daughter_ ,” he protested. 

“No, Waltion,” Pathonia snapped, finally looking up at him. “She was _my_ daughter. She and the boy carry my name, not yours.”

He rubbed a hand down his face as he tore his eyes away from her in disbelief. “Where is he, Path?”

“He’s upstairs asleep,” she said softly. Waltion moved to cross past her when she reached out and grabbed his arm. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Don’t do this,” he begged, tears streaming down his face. “You’ve taken her away from me. Please, don’t take him, too.” 

“I won’t let you ruin him the way you ruined her, Waltion.” 

“Gran?” came a small voice from the top of the spiral staircase in the corner. Waltion looked up to find his grandson, flaming red hair dishevelled and a small hand rubbing a sleepy eye. “I heard arguin’.”

“Hey, buddy,” the man said soothingly as he swept the moisture from his cheeks. He took a step forward but Pathonia’s grip on his arm tightened.

“Take one more step and you’ll be reporting to the Fourth Fingers come daybreak,” she said venomously.

Waltion leaned in close. “Gladly, you heartless cunt,” he softly growled so the boy couldn’t hear. “I don’t think I could stomach another day as your second after this.” 

“You would throw away thirty years--”

“In a heartbeat.” He shook her off and climbed the stairs, scooping up the boy into his strong arms. “Let’s get you back to bed, Mathias.” 

“Say your goodbyes, now, Waltion,” she called over her shoulder before glancing up at them, “because I won’t be giving you another chance.”

He narrowed his eyes as he placed a warm hand on the boy’s head before ducking into the room, fighting the urge to slam the door behind him.

###

“Well, this must be the saddest send off I’ve had in awhile,” Taelia heard Flynn lament as he approached her in the Stormwind Portal Room. She looked up from her perch on a stone planter near the dias where a pair of tidesages held the portal to Boralus. 

“Anduin’s stuck in morning petitions, but I’m to meet him after I see you off,” she replied with a fond smile. “He told me to bid you safe travels by the way. Mathias?”

“Back to work until we cast off the end of next week.” He offered her a sad smile as he set his pack at her feet. “He’s been restless. Not sleeping, at least since…” he trailed.

Taelia nodded in understanding. The past two days had been particularly rough since their return to Stormwind from Kul Tiras. “You could push off the contract, you know. Cyrus could find someone else to take it.”

“Nah, I’ve buggered Cyrus off long enough for it,” Flynn said with a shake of his head. “If I stall one more day he’ll drag me through this portal himself by my boar’s tail.” Taelia giggled softly. “It’s not the trip I’m worried about. It’ll only be four or five days. It’s Mathias being alone that long.” He plopped down next to her on the planter and looked at his hands. “We made good progress, after Nazmir. His night terrors were pretty much gone. Then all that shit happened with Thros, and now we’re back to square one.”

Taelia leaned against his shoulder. “Has he talked to you about any of it?”

“Right,” Flynn snorted. “Mathias Shaw talking about his _feelings_.” She smiled as he gave her a small nudge. “No, he hasn’t said a word, but I saw it, Tae. He was deep in there, much deeper than we were. Those blighters weren’t just manipulating him, they were feeding off his memories, I’m sure of it.” She looked up to find his eyes haunted. “He looked so young. Couldn’t have been more than, I don’t know, fifteen, sixteen?”

“You’ll get him through it,” she said reassuringly. “I know you will.”

“What are you going to do while I’m off and they’re all busy with their _official duties_?” he asked, swiftly changing the subject.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Anduin’s taking me to his parent’s memorials after this, but we haven’t really planned anything from there. Part of me would love to hop home, get back to it for a bit, but I can’t help but feel like I need to stay close.”

“And be the King’s consort?” he teased softly, mindful of how public their surroundings were. Taelia batted his arm playfully.

“You’re disgusting,” she chided, not putting much effort into it.

“You know, there’s a whole row of training dummies just outside of Mathias’ office. I’m sure someone can dig you up a hammer if you wanted to smack one around a bit,” Flynn offered. “Or Mathias for that matter,” he added with a smirk.

Taelia giggled again mirthfully. “I would never.” When their laughter subsided Taelia felt him take her hand in both of his, filling her with warmth. 

“Listen,” Flynn began, “would you mind doing me a solid while I’m gone?” The girl tilted her head with curiosity. “Would you take care of him for me? Just, sit out the nights?” He inhaled sharply. “I know it sounds stupid, because he’s a grown man and doesn’t need a babysitter, and I know he’s going to piss and moan over that very reason. But, I’m genuinely worried how much damage my absence could cause.”

Taelia furrowed her brow as she considered his request. “You want me to stay with him?”

“You don’t have to get him to talk or nothin’ Just…” There was a hint of sadness in his voice that tugged at her heart. “Be there for him, in case the terrors get bad.”

“Of course I will,” she whispered with a nod, earning a small one armed hug.

“You may have to go to market,” Flynn remarked with a wince. “Mathias doesn’t tend to keep much in the larder.”

Taelia let out a snort. “I’m sure I can figure something out. Now go, before Cyrus has your arse.” 

“Cyrus _wishes_ he could have my arse,” the captain quipped with a wink as he rose and picked up his pack to sling over his shoulder. He leaned down and pressed a scratchy kiss to her forehead. “Thank you, Tae.”

“Thank me later,” she said fondly, swatting his behind as he ducked through the portal before heading out of the mage tower. 

It only took Taelia a few peeks at the city map Anduin had supplied to her and the assistance of a city guard to find her way to the entrance of Lion’s Rest, finding that Anduin had made it there before her, dressed in his royal regalia. She looked at her own attire, simple trousers and her clunky cadet’s boots with a sleeveless fitted linen blouse. 

“Well, I feel grossly underdressed,” she commented as she approached to stand at his side. She smiled as he looked down to assess his appearance.

“Yes, I apologize that I didn’t tarry long to change,” he admitted, reaching to take her hand. “I take it the Captain’s send off went well?”

Taelia nodded. “As well as could be expected. He’s a little beside himself with worry over Mathias, but he’ll be back before we can blink.” She stared at the monument before them, made to look like a resting place for Anduin’s father, Varian, though he had told her previously that the stone was solid. She remembered how she gasped when he told her nothing had been left for them to bury.

“Copper for your thoughts?” he asked gently, softly squeezing her hand. 

“Flynn asked me to watch over Mathias while he’s away,” she explained as she looked up at him. “He said he hasn’t taken things very well since we returned, and has been having dreadful nightmares. He asked me to sit the nights, in case something happens I suppose.”

“Flynn isn’t wrong. Shaw’s been more curt than usual these past few days and quick to temper. It might not be a bad idea, really.”

“What about you?”

“I’m sure we can find time to spend in the afternoons, like today,” Anduin assured her. 

“And you’re alright with this,” she broached carefully.

“The Alliance needs its Spymaster able to perform his duties with a certain level of focus. And while I don’t pretend to know everything that’s going on in Mathias’ head even on a good day, he’s not hiding his discomfort the same way he normally does. I’m willing to try Flynn’s suggestion if it means having my advisor back at his full capacity.” He tilted his head slightly, smiling. “That, and Mathias is family.”

Taelia reached up to press a kiss against the young king’s cheek. “He is.”

Anduin nodded and stepped away from the memorial to lead her down the path towards the cemetery proper. As they ducked through the grove lined with headstones, a shiver rolled down her spine. She clutched the boy’s arm, pressing close to him as they moved down the path towards the back of the park.

“Something wrong?” he asked gently.

“It’s silly,” she admitted. “Graveyards tend to give me the wobbles.”

Anduin chuckled and leaned in to nuzzle in close. “I’ll protect you from the ghosts, love,” he whispered into her ear.

“I’m sure you will,” she teased. 

They approached a modest garden trellis covered in vines and small pink and yellow flowers, a simple interment just beyond the entry. Anduin slowed his steps as they drew near to the gravesite. There were several fresh bouquets and single roses adorning the slate, along with two small handwoven wreaths.

“My father would bring me here every few months, if he was able,” Anduin explained. “She passed not long after I was born, so I’ve only known stories and pictures. But he wanted me to know how she touched the lives of our people. Many still bring flowers of remembrance, as you can see.

“I’ve found more now that I come here to commune, to seek guidance, to get away. As you can tell, my thirst for wandering isn’t necessarily satiated by walking to a gravesite.” Taelia smiled and leaned into his shoulder again as they grew quiet. 

A soft rhythmic clack against the pavement pulled her attention and she glanced over their shoulders. Not too far from the memorial, an elderly gentleman with a silvery mop of hair approached one of the larger graves lining the wall. She watched him place a white rosebud in the holder adorning the stone before standing to his full height and adjusting his deep burgundy overcoat. She glanced back at Anduin again, who had closed his eyes.

“Let me give you a few moments with your mum,” she said softly, easing her arm out from where it clutched his. “I’ll just be down the path.”

“Don’t wander too far,” he replied softly with a nod, turning back to converse silently with the memorial before him.

Taelia stepped just past the trellis, watching the mysterious man curiously as he, too, communed with the dead. After several moments, he pressed his fingers to his lips and placed them upon the stone. He maneuvered his cane back to touch the ground before taking a few steps, pausing and looking up at the girl spying him. She saw a raw sadness in his expression that clenched her heart before he turned and walked away, slipping through the archway leading to the path around the square. 

Her feet moved tentatively, taking her towards the grave with the white rose, her curiosity peaked. She approached the granite stone, her eyes drawn to the etched raven and it’s intricate detail. Her breath hitched as her gaze pulled to the epithet, carved deep and imperious.

“Pathonia… _Shaw_?” she read in a mutter, her gaze flicking back to where the elderly man had disappeared. 

Taelia’s mind whirred. Flynn had mentioned that Mathias had told him of a grandmother but without any forthcoming detail. She wondered if this was the same woman, and how did the old man factor in? She decided she would mention it to Flynn once he returned.

“Tae?” Anduin called from the path. She finally allowed herself to step away from the grave, nodding to it in a silent understanding that she perhaps had stayed there too long.

“Coming,” she responded, as she made her way back to Anduin so that they could return to the Keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always loved, appreciated and welcomed as they worry about Flynn while he’s away.


	2. Stay the Night

Waltion left the Pig and Whistle with his coin purse a bit lighter, but with a thick packet of his favorite tobacco in hand. Praise the Light for dear sweet Erika, the barmaid always keeping a stock of the spicy rum-sweet smoke with her shipments from Booty Bay for him. He made sure to pass her an extra coin for her troubles.

The bell in the square chimed the half hour. He was still a bit early for his report to the Spymaster, but figured he could head over to the main office and wait outside the door a moment to enjoy a puff or two from his pipe. He smirked at the thought, knowing Pathonia despised his smoking, even more so anywhere near her office. He pulled the smooth mahogany pipe from his inner jacket pocket and began to pack it as he entered the building.

He leaned against the wall next to her door and struck a match against the frame. He took a few pulls to stoke the embers of the bowl and blew out a cloud above his head before settling the pipe in the corner of his mouth. Pulling the recruitment report from his jacket, he skimmed the page over when the door to the office blew open, slamming a moment later. 

“Light damn her,” muttered the cause of the commotion. Waltion glanced over to find a red-headed fit of rage knocking the back of his head against the aged wood. He smirked around his pipe and shook his head.

“What did you do this time, son?” he asked the boy as he took another puff.

“What business is it of yours?” the teenager scoffed with a roll of his eyes. 

Waltion watched his grandson kick off the door and storm down the stairs, out of sight. He gave a soft chuckle, shaking his head and feeling a small tug at his heart. _So like his mother_ , he thought as he tapped the pipe against the heel of his boot, putting it out. He inhaled a deep breath and rapped the familiar code against the door. 

“Enter,” came the growl from the other side. Waltion opened the door to find Pathonia glowering from across her grand estate desk. “You’ve been smoking in my hallway again, haven’t you,” she said, the accusing tone not lost on him.

“The recruitment reports you asked for,” he replied, avoiding her question as he handed her the parchment. He took a seat, fighting the urge to prop his feet on top of the lacquered mahogany in defiance, opting instead to rest his ankle across his knee. He tucked his pipe back into his inner pocket next to the packet of tobacco. “The stocks are a bit bare lately, but I have a handful of scouts in Duskwood and Redridge.”

“I’d suggest extending our reach, Waltion,” she said impassively, scanning the page. “Perhaps sending a few down to Stranglethorn.”

“I’ll get on it in the morning,” he offered, earning a nod. He regarded her for a few moments as she signed off on the reports. “Mind telling me what _that_ was all about?” he asked, throwing a thumb over his shoulder.

Pathonia inhaled sharply. “I don’t see where it is your concern, recruiter,” she replied evenly, giving him a warning glance. 

“Path,” he chided pointedly. 

She pursed her lips before touching the tip of her tongue to her upper lip in frustration. “He was caught sneaking out again with _that boy_.”

Waltion snorted. “And you’re surprised by this? His mum did the same thing when she was his age. With his father, no less.”

“Yes, well,” she averted his eyes down to another missive on her desk. “That was the product of _your_ influence, wasn’t it?” She glanced up at him with a quirked eyebrow. “I’ve set him a two day probation with docked pay.”

“He’s sixteen, Path. My influence has nothing to do with it, considering the general lack thereof when it comes to Mathias. You, yourself, have seen to that.”

“I don’t understand it, Waltion,” she sighed in exasperation, covering her eyes with a heavily adorned hand. “I have done everything to instill a sense of discipline, duty, and this is how he--”

“Tell me, Pathonia,” he cut in, propping his elbow on the armrest, resting his cheek against the back of his hand. “What upsets you more: the fact that he’s been deliberately disobeying you, or that our grandson happens to prefer cock?”

Pathonia’s hand fell as her eyes snapped to him, wide with shock. “What did you say?” she hissed.

“Oh come on, Path,” he chided. “Your eyesight’s not _that_ bad. Why else do you think he chases after the VanCleef kid.”

She shook her head in disbelief as she covered her mouth loosely with her fingers. “I thought he was just acting out…”

“And what? Innocently running off to fish the canals with a childhood mate?” he chortled. “The way he looks at the boy, of course he’s smitten. And stop looking at me like that, Pathonia,” he added, shooting her a knowing glare. “You used to look at me the same way, love.” 

“All the more reason for it to end,” she huffed, her brow furrowing.

Waltion shook his head. “It’s just a fleeting schoolboy romance. He’ll grow tired of it, eventually.” He exhaled a soft sigh. “You’ve stolen his boyhood, you know. Remind me, did you ever get around to telling him that his first assignment was his own father?”

“Get out,” Pathonia snarled.

“With pleasure, Madam,” he replied, pushing himself out of the chair and moving towards the door. He paused with his hand on the knob. “If you decide to do some sneaking out of your own, love, you know where to find me. The door’s always unlocked,” he added as he slipped out of the office.

###

Dust motes stirred as Taelia pushed open the trap door in the middle of Shaw’s flat just as the second afternoon bell rolled in the distance. It took some effort but she managed to hoist the heavy basket Carlotta had laden her with earlier through the floorboard before scrambling into the space.

She deposited the parcel on the kitchen table and took in her dimmed surroundings. She realized she didn’t really have a good chance to look around the sparse flat when she and Anduin snuck in five days past. She went to the single window in the corner, threw back the thick curtains and pushed the panes open letting in light and fresh air. 

When she and Anduin had returned to the Keep, they stopped by the kitchens and pestered his favorite housekeeper to help put together some provisions to take to the apartment. He then excused himself off to another series of meetings, apologizing that he would see to it to be free the next afternoon. Thankfully, Carlotta was more than accommodating, grumbling yet again on the wellbeing of the kingdom’s spymaster. She stuffed the basket with boar’s ribs trimmed precisely of the bones and silverskin, potatoes, fat carrots, and both a cask of wine and a tin of freshly ground coffee. Tucked next to a loaf of crusty country bread baked that morning were a few sheets of parchment with her explicit instructions on how to make a hearty stew. “And you make sure that man eats every last bite or so help me, girl, I’ll come after you with a wooden spoon in your sleep, I will,” she threatened, waving said spoon in her face. 

Anduin had warned her that Mathias most likely wouldn’t return to his flat until late, at least the ninth bell, so she figured she had plenty of time to do a bit of tidying. She set about cleaning out the charmed chill cabinet, discarding the few items that weren’t worth eating anymore, and she put away the provisions she had brought before clearing the sink of the few dirty cups that had been left forgotten. She took a damp rag and wiped down the table and small counter near the larder. She moved about, removing the small amount of dust and grime on whatever surface she could find, the evidence of a home left vacant more often than occupied. She reached a small secretary bureau in the corner and swiped her cloth against the closed desktop before pulling it open.

She found the insides neatly organized and she took care to not disturb the order within as she continued her dusting. She found tucked in the center shelf two picture frames, both coated with a thicker layer of dust. 

She hesitantly picked up one and wiped down the surface to find a picture of two boys sitting on a dock, presumably within the canals. The boy in the foreground had wild black hair against lightly golden skin and was glaring right at the S.E.L.F.I.E. camera with eyes so light blue they were almost white. A taller boy sat slightly in the background, a stark contrast to the other. His face was paler, dusted with light freckles, and sharp green eyes gazed askance at his partner with thinly veiled mischief. His unmistakable brilliant red hair was fashioned in the same style he wore today. 

“Mathias,” she whispered sadly, drawing her fingertip gently across both faces with a tilt of her head. She placed the frame back into its place, picking up the other. She cleaned off the dust and wiped around the ornate carving of the frame to reveal a much older photograph, tinged yellow with age.

The woman didn’t smile, her small mouth fixed in a prim line. There was a sharp edge to her, from her cheekbones to her jawline. Her short silvery hair flipped to one side, and large gold hoops hung from her ears. Her face was adorned with the same soft freckles beneath piercing green eyes. 

“I take it you’re Pathonia, aren’t you, love?” she asked the picture. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth a moment then placed the picture back next to the other, shutting the desk so that it could keep its secrets tucked away.

Satisfied with the dusting, she moved on to sweeping the floor, clearing the odd dustbunny from under the worn armchair and table. She ducked into the small lav behind the door off of the kitchen sink and held her breath as she swiftly cleaned and re-organized the shelves. “ _Boys_ ,” she grumbled with a shake of her head as she closed the door behind her when she had hastily completed the task.

She began a fire in the hearth to begin braising the stew, Carlotta’s instructions clearly stating that it would need a few hours for the meat to become tender. She cleaned as she went, leaving a cutting board and knife in the draining rack to be put away after supper. After making sure the pot was secured on the chimney crane over the flames, she crossed to the spiral staircase with one last thing on her mental tasklist.

She coughed when she entered the room, the stale scent permeating through the room. Clothes, some she noted belonging to Flynn, were haphazardly tossed about the floor and a single chair, and the bed was unmade. She tiptoed across the wooden floor to open the window before scooping up the discarded clothing into a pile. She stripped the bed and added the sheets to the laundry and crossed to the wardrobe, thankfully finding a set of semi-fresh linens to make the bed. She poked around the closet once more, finding a laundry bag to stuff the dirty wash in, tossing it down to land next to the last step. She retrieved the broom and dust rag and attacked the room with the same vigor she had on the downstairs, closing the door behind her once she was content that it was suitable for use once again.

She went to the pot and stirred the stew, happily bubbling away and turning thick from the starchy potatoes. The bell in the distance chimed four and she stretched. The laundry could be skivved off until tomorrow, knowing that she had seen a washboard under the sink. 

She went back up to the bedroom, remembering that she had seen a bookshelf in the corner. She perused the titles, impressed by the eclectic collection of fiction before her. Taking one from the middle shelf, _A Melody of Earth and Wind_ by Gregor L. L. Moltenbottom, and grabbing a fluffy blanket from the chifferobe, she descended the stairwell and settled into the armchair to read while she waited for Shaw to return.

_Taelia?_

_Lass?_

“Taelia!”

The girl shocked awake, straightening in the chair. She lifted her eyes to find the flat’s owner hovering over her with his arms folded, and his piercing gaze regarding her with a quirked eyebrow.

“Tides,” she breathed as she stretched, barely catching the open book from falling on the floor, “what time is it?”

“Eighth bell,” he replied with a tilt of his head. He was a titch early.

Taelia turned her face from Shaw’s scrutinizing glance, her eyes falling on his blades laying on the table. “Came in with daggers drawn, did ya?” 

“I don’t often leave work to see my windows open and smoke coming from my chimney,” he chided softly. “I half expected the door to be ajar.”

“I didn’t pick the locks, if that’s what you’re thinkin’,” she protested, rising from the armchair and brushing past him to check the stew. The fire had died down but the embers kept the pot warm. She grabbed two small logs and threw them into the hearth to stoke the fire back up. 

“Then, how did you get in?” Mathias asked as he closed the window and folded the blanket before draping it across the back of the chair while she pulled bowls and cups from the cupboard above the sink.

“Took the tunnel from the Keep,” said Taelia. She deposited the dishes and moved the basket and the daggers near the hearth. 

“Right, the tunnel,” he muttered, growing quiet. The girl grabbed cutlery and the crusty bread as well as a jar of sweet cream butter from the larder before scooping out bowlfuls of hearty stew for the two of them. “Did you clean my flat?” he asked, his brow furrowed.

Taelia looked up as she set the first bowl on the table behind her. “It was a bit grimy,” she answered sheepishly with a shrug. “I didn’t look through or move anythin’, I promise.” She looked up to find him staring at the table. She could almost hear the gears in his head working overtime. “Mathias?”

“Why are you here, Taelia,” he asked, exasperated, placing his hands on the back of the chair Flynn had occupied a few nights back. She scooped out the second bowl and placed it in front of him. She dropped into the chair adjacent, right in front of the hearth, reaching for the bread and breaking it into pieces.

“I just thought you’d like the company, is all,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant. She flicked her gaze up to find his pointed look. “Fine,” she whinged. “Flynn asked me to,” Taelia admitted guiltily.

“I don’t need a damned sitter,” he protested, rubbing his forehead. 

“Well, your other half begged to differ,” she countered, placing a piece of bread next to the other bowl and took the cask of wine, pouring it into the cups. “He’s worried about you being alone while he’s away,” she added softly.

“You should be up at the keep. Anduin--”

“ _Agreed_ ,” Taelia interrupted. “We’ve all been arse over end with that rubbish that happened last week.” She propped her elbow on the table and rested the back of her hand against her cheek with a sigh. “Look, I’m not asking you to talk to me about nothin’, but I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t give a shit. Flynn’s my family, and you belong to Flynn, which makes _you_ my family, too. I wish you could get over yourself and understand that.”

A pregnant pause fell over them before Mathias took a deep breath, nodded and sat down next to her. 

“Good,” she said. “Now eat up so Carlotta doesn’t come after me with a kitchen knife. She’s scarier than you.” That earned her a quiet chuckle. Progress.

The two finished their supper with comfortable small talk and idle conversation. Taelia made sure to keep it light and worked to keep away from touchy subjects. She pondered bringing up what she saw on her visit with Anduin to the cemetery, but thought against it, since she had promised that she wouldn’t prod him to open up.

When the remnants of the stew had been sopped up by morsels of buttered bread, Taelia rose, taking the detritus to the sink to wash up, scolding the man for even thinking of helping. She heard Mathias rise from his seat and move to the bureau. She chanced a quick glance, noting that he went rigid for a moment when he opened the desktop, turning her eyes back to her work quickly. She took a deep breath, placing the second bowl into the rack and wiping down the sink. She turned back to the table, finding her companion settling back in his seat with a deck of cards and a sack of coin. 

“Few rounds before bed?” he asked as he idly began to shuffle. 

“Emperors?” Taelia inquired hopefully, smiling and biting her bottom lip, scurrying back to her seat, perching on the edge and leaning over the table.

“What do you know about Emperors?” Mathias teased, starting to deal out a hand.

“Please,” she scoffed with a raised eyebrow, “Flynn taught me how to play Emperors when I was ten.” She reached out to catch the cards being dealt to her.

“Did he now?” Shaw remarked as he placed the stock onto the table and spread them in a precise, neat line, flipping the top card over. 

“Along with lockpicking, of course,” she added with a smirk. She reached over and pulled two silver shillings out of the pouch and tossed them to the center of the table. “I’m gonna sweep you of your pretty coin, old man.”

They played several hands, each winning as much as they lost, calling it a draw when the eleventh bell sounded in the distance. Mathias got up from his seat with a stretch, a few of his joints cracking. Taelia yawned and watched him clear up the cards and coin purse, and she took it upon herself to take their cups to the sink for the morrow. She corked the wine and set it on top of the larder. 

“I’m afraid I don’t…” Mathias said tentatively.

“I’ll be fine on the armchair,” she assured him. “You go on up and get some sleep, yeah?”

“Thank you, Taelia,” he said with a nod, his face softening.

“I wish you two would stop thanking me for something I’d do anyways,” she replied with a smirk.

“Goodnight, Lass,” he said as he climbed the stairs to his bedroom, closing the door silently behind him.

“Night,” she whispered. She blew out the lamp on the table and moved to the armchair, unfolding the blanket and settling back in, falling asleep shortly after.

She didn’t know how long it had been since the two had parted for the night when she had awoken to a series of soft thumps above her. She glanced up at the ceiling when it grew quiet for several moments, shifting to get comfortable again. A loud crash sounded and she threw off the blanket, rushing up the stairs. 

“Mathias?” she called softly with a light tap of her knuckle against the door. Another thud followed by a groan prompted her to poke her head into the room. 

She found the man tangled in his sheets on the floor like a cornered animal. She rushed to him, dropping to her knees, placing a hand on his back. She said his name again and he looked up, his eyes darting before settling on her face. 

“Tae?” he said, disoriented. She nodded with concern.

“You fell out of bed, love,” she soothed. “Nightmare?” Mathias took a shaky breath and nodded. “Come on, up you get.” She helped unravel the sheet around his feet, thankful that he had the sense to change into a pair of sleeping breeches. She hooked her arm around his waist to help him back to the bed. “What am I going to do with you,” she muttered, placing a hand on his cheek, watching his eyes flutter close.

She thought of all those years Flynn had squatted in the flat above the harbormaster’s office with her and Cyrus, the times one of them would help the other with their dark dreams and memories. She reached out with her other hand and stroked back the sweat slick hair from Mathias’ forehead. 

“Alright, budge up,” she gently commanded. 

His eyes shot up to hers. “What?” he hissed incredulously.

“I’m not about to leave you to fall out of bed on your arse again, so budge up.” 

“Taelia,” he warned, “I don’t think this was what Flynn had in mind--”

“Flynn and I have been crawling into each other’s beds to chase away nightmares since I was eight,” she replied pointedly, pulling her hands back and folding her arms. “Trust me, he won’t mind. He’ll probably thank me, _again_. Profusely even.” Mathias reluctantly did as he was told, moving over to give the girl some room. She pulled back the cover and slipped in. “Now, roll over, shut the fuck up and go to sleep,” she mumbled. 

The older man turned away from her and she scooted close, resting her hand on his shoulder, letting her arm relax against his. She allowed her eyes to close once she felt his breathing even out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't say enough how much my inner Taelia continues to impress me. Bless the girl. And Emperors is just a nudge to one of the very first fanfics (different fandom) I read probably (oh lordt) almost 20 years ago. :O 
> 
> Also: Pathonia is a fucking psychopath, and for some reason I keep picturing Meryl Streep circa Devil Wears Prada when it comes to her. Head canons....
> 
> Comments, as always, are appreciated, loved, and welcomed into Taelia's big, dysfunctional, family.


	3. The Very Hurt You Sold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Came a time  
>  When every star fall  
> Brought you to tears again  
> We are the very hurt you sold  
> And what's the worst you take  
> From every heart you break  
> And like the blade you'll stain  
> Well I've been holding on tonight_  
> Recommended listening for this chapter: Helena - MCR

Waltion rose to his feet, his old knees aching from his crouch. He used her headstone to steady himself as he exchanged the withered flower from the small holder for a fresh, white rosebud. He tucked the dried bloom away, making note to put it with the compost behind the inn. 

“You always said I ruined her, Path,” he muttered to the grave, “but it was you who ruined us all.” He shook his head with a sigh. “Oh well. Not much for it, I suppose. I’ll still be coming around, love, like always.” He pressed a kiss to his fingertips and brushed them across the top of the granite before turning towards the cobbled walkway.

His cane clacked softly as he ambled along, making his way back for the Gilded Rose and the comforts of his flat. It had been too long since his last visit, with the war dragging his attention to adding more recruits to the roster, and making sure that the fools assigned to training them were following protocols. Thankfully the ceasefire had given him a reprieve, at least for the time being, until they were called again to the next war. And the one after that.

A flash of glinting crimson down the rows of graves caught his eye. Waltion swiftly ducked behind a modest parcel of flowering trees at the corner of the path, stealthing himself from the younger man ahead yet close enough to eavesdrop. 

“I don’t know, Ed,” Mathias muttered to the ebony headstone. “It’s been so long since I…” he trailed and shook his head, an almost smile threatening his lips. “And truth be told, he intrigues me in a way I haven’t felt since… well, you. That’s the part that scares the shit out of me most of all.” 

Waltion furrowed his brow as he listened, tilting his head as he regarded his grandson. His heart broke for the man that he had become, for the poison that Pathonia had filled him with over the years. Had the boy really not let himself be open to anyone since Edwin?

“Maybe Valeera’s right. We were happy once, you and I, and that certainly had been fleeting, as she put it.” He balled his hands into tight fists. “I still wonder, after all this time, what could have been if... if Pathonia hadn’t interfered. Would it have all gone differently if you could have stayed by my side? Would you still be here with me?” his voice cracked.

Waltion smiled sadly. Perhaps the boy was more like his mother than he even knew.

“No matter. It doesn’t do to dwell on all of that ‘could have been’ horseshit.” Mathias took in a deep breath and bent gently to place a hand on the granite. “I make this promise, Ed. I won’t let my memory of you be in vain.” He placed his other hand on his heart. “There will always be a piece of you here with me, but I think it’s high time I took a leap of faith.”

Waltion watched as Mathias straightened, letting his fingers slip from the stone as he turned and walked away. As soon as he could tell that his grandson was well out of sight and earshot, the elder man stepped back out of his hiding place and approached the headstone. 

“I’m sorry, lad,” Waltion sighed as he stared down the cobbled walkway, “for what Pathonia did to him. I never wanted that for either of you. I just hope you can forgive us all one day, Edwin. The two of you never deserved her wrath.” He pulled the rosebud intended for his daughter’s grave out of his coat pocket, placing it gingerly on top of the granite, as there was no holder for flowers to adorn it. “Who knows, maybe a second chance could be good for you both.”

He gave a slight bow and started his trek back to his flat above the Gilded Rose.

###

“Flynn’ll be home this evening,” Taelia said as she threw Anduin’s discarded silk tunic over her head to hang loosely on her frame, crawling back onto the massive four-poster in the middle of his bedchamber. She knelt beside his lithe form and reached behind his head to tug loose the leather throng from his hair, much to his protest. She used it to pull her tresses into a small tuft at the crown, the shorter pieces that couldn’t reach falling softly around her face and neck. She let her eyes wander over him, the bedsheet draping barely enough to cover his dignity. She scrunched her nose with a grin, remembering calling him “scrawny” when he was anything but, pale skin draped over wiry, lean muscle. 

“Wait, how would you know so quickly?” he asked as he rolled over and propped his elbow, cradling his head in his hand. 

“Parrot,” she replied. “Cyrus got the word yesterday and sent a page through the portal to pass it along. They delivered the message to Mathias’ flat during supper. Mathias scared the shit out of the poor kid.”

“Parrot?” Anduin mused.

“Why else do you think sailors keep them for, pets?” She noted his responding sheepish expression. “They’re trained to carry messages out ahead of the ship to make sure a berth is open to dock. S’not much different than what mainlanders use ravens for.”

“I guess that’s fair,” said Anduin, brushing his fingertips lightly across her exposed calf. "What time should we expect him?"

"Eh, he'll have to make sure the ' _Wake_ 's properly docked, the rigging and sail's are secure, debrief the crew, go to Cyrus and drop off his papers. Then after all that, he's gotta hop the portal and walk his arse across the city." She shrugged as she rolled the numbers in her head. "Best case, sixth or seventh bell?"

Anduin nodded in understanding. “I keep meaning to ask how the evenings with Mathias have been going.”

“You see him as often as I do,” she pointed out with a snort. She reached out to push a lock of hair behind his ear. 

“In an official capacity, where it’s not entirely appropriate to pry into the man’s private time,” he countered. “In petitions, meetings, formal audiences, he’s… well, he’s Mathias. He stands to the side and he scowls.”

Taelia huffed a fond chuckle. “The first night was the worst. He knocked himself out of bed so hard it woke me up. Whatever the dream, it rattled him to the point of almost not recognizing me.” She inhaled a deep sigh, fidgeting with the edge of the shirt. “So, I did the only thing I could think of: got him untangled from the sheet and climbed into the bed with him.”

Anduin furrowed his brow. “You did what?”

“Not like _that_ ,” she whinged, tilting her head thoughtfully. “When I was a kid, and Flynn had just left the freebooters, Cyrus temporarily took him in, at least until he acquired the ‘ _Wake_ and a bed of his own. If he hadn’t a bed to warm, he’d squat in our flat on the futon in the drawing room. One of those first nights he was there, I had this dream that left me screaming. Quick as a wink, Flynn was there, hopping in next to me and just humming me back to sleep. It’s been like that since I was eight, both of us climbing into each other’s bed for comfort. So, that's what I did for Mathias. It was a bit of a rocky start, especially in the morning, but as of the night before last, he’s slept right through.”

“That’s good,” said Anduin as he sat up, cupping her cheek. “I did tell you that you’re incredible.”

“That you did,” she replied with a smirk, leaning in to brush a soft kiss to his lips. He pulled back with a confused raise of his brow.

“What did you mean by ‘in the morning’?”

“Oh,” she said self-consciously, “He may have gotten a little bit randy that first morning. To be fair, he was still a bit disoriented and thought I was Flynn before realizing I’m a bit smaller and curvier than his mate. Trust me, I know what side of the mast Mathias ties his sails to. And if I didn’t, I wouldn’t do that to Flynn. Or you.”

She watched as Anduin flushed a bright scarlet from his ears down past where the silk sheet pooled around him. “I… er, well…” he stammered.

“Look at that,” she grinned with awe, biting her bottom lip. “That’s the second time in a fortnight I’ve gotten a grown man to blush. I must be doing something right.”

Anduin mock pouted and narrowed his eyes. “What was the first?”

Taelia shrugged her shoulders with feigned innocence. “That night at the tavern? Before you lot joined us, I may have dared Flynn to spill on all the dirty deeds he’s done to Mathias since they got together.”

“Captain Fairwind doesn’t strike me as the type to embarrass easily,” he remarked skeptically.

“I’m sorry, I misspoke. I dared Flynn _in front of_ Mathias,” she amended, waiting for the copper to drop. She let out a bright giggle as Anduin’s eyes widened in realization. “Did you know he can flush so red that his hair goes blonder than yours and his freckles turn white?”

They laughed together for several moments, just enjoying the moment. At some point, Anduin pulled to situate her on his lap, resting his hands on her hips.

“I suppose you’re back here tonight for dinner, then,” Anduin smiled softly.

“Actually,” replied Taelia, “it was Mathias’ suggestion that I come back for one more evening, just for supper, as a ‘Welcome Home, Flynn’ of sorts.” She tilted her head and returned his smile. “We were kind of hoping that you’d join us?” she asked tentatively.

“I don’t know. I may have to clear out my schedule,” he teased. “It’s _really_ asking a lot to move things around at the last min--” Taelia shut him up by cradling his face in her hands and capturing his lips with her own. She smiled into it as he slanted his mouth against hers for several long moments. The bell chimed two in the distance, pulling them from their kiss with shallow breath. “Would you look at that? My calendar suddenly freed up,” he smirked.

“We best get to the kitchens, then,” she whispered playfully, pressing a quick kiss to the tip of his nose. “Maybe Carlotta will have some of the orange buns those idiots like so much.”

After setting them up with everything needed to prepare an impressive bounty of roasted gamecock, purple Lakeshire sprouts, and honey baked turnips, Carlotta shooed the pair off with yet another threat to not return unless every last bit had been eaten by all parties, especially Shaw. They hurried down the tunnel, pushing open the trapdoor under Mathias’ flat, not expecting for a hand to reach down for the basket.

“What are you doing home?” Taelia asked as the spymaster, dressed down in civilian grey leather trousers and a linen shirt, helped her through the crawlspace. She reached down for the second basket as he assisted Anduin up behind her.

“Couldn’t concentrate on work,” he replied, heaving the baskets onto the table. “I’m sure you can understand,” he added, shooting a pointed glance to Anduin, who nodded in reply. “Shiv’s got a handle of things and practically pushed me out of the door.”

“Right then,” Taelia crowed. “You get to help us prepare this ‘Welcome Home’ feast.” 

She delegated tasks and the three set to work, Mathias minding the bird, Anduin chopping and preparing the vegetables and Taelia taking care of the orange sticky rolls. She had to smack the older man’s hand several times when he tried to sneak a cherry or two. 

By half past the fourth bell, everything was set to slow-cooking in the hearth. After cleaning up the prepwork, Shaw and Taelia settled into a game of Emperors while Anduin had picked up the book Taelia had been reading on her evening excursions. 

When the sixth bell tolled in the square, Taelia pulled the buns from the hearth, Mathias checked the bird and Anduin set the table. Shaw began to carve meat off the carcass, and the timing couldn’t have been more perfect if they had sent up prayers to the Light (or the Tidemother for that matter). Flynn entered the apartment at that very moment with a “safe as a well-guarded keep”, dropping his pack at the sight.

“Tides be damned, you lot really went all out, didn’t ya?” the captain breathed as he crossed over, nuzzling at Mathias’ temple before scooping Taelia into a burly hug and shaking Anduin’s hand. “All this for a silly five day romp to Booty Bay?”

The four of them tucked in, getting their fill on good food and wine, listening to Flynn’s account of his excursion in all its tall tale glory. Taelia smiled despite herself when she realized that their worries and burdens from that fateful night had mostly dissipated. Their reverie paused, however, with a light rap at the door.

_Long, long, short, short, short._

Flynn furrowed his brow and shot a sharp glance to Mathias. “I thought you said you took the night off,” he said accusingly.

“I did,” the spymaster insisted. He started to lift from his seat when the captain stopped him, rising instead and crossing to the door. They watched him poke his head into the corridor, bending down to pick something from the mat before rejoining them at the table.

“I’m guessing this is for you, mate,” Flynn remarked as he handed a ciphered envelope to Shaw. “I can’t bloody read this drivel, and you refuse to teach me.”

Mathias flicked a glance up to his lover, pausing in opening the envelope. “Your assumption continues to be correct,” he muttered.

“You could teach me,” Taelia piped up merrily, “then I could teach you, Flynn.”

“That would be a big ‘No’ as well,” Shaw chided. He skimmed the ciphered note, freezing as his eyes dragged up to Taelia. The girl instantly felt cornered under his piercing gaze as he handed the note to her. “It’s an invitation to the Gilded Rose tomorrow afternoon. For Taelia.”

“For me?” she asked, turning the note in her hands. She couldn’t make out the meaning of the symbols, but the drawing of the closed fist gave her pause. “Who’s it from?”

The room grew silent, all eyes on Mathias. “One of my operatives. Is there something you’re not telling me, Lass?” he said icily, shaking off Flynn’s hand on his elbow.

“What?” she asked incredulously. “No. I mean, I don’t think so.” She glanced at Anduin imploringly. He shrugged his shoulders, looking just as taken aback.

“What are you hiding from me, Taelia,” Mathias growled. Flynn attempted again to reel him in, earning a dangerous glare from the spymaster.

“Nothing!” she exclaimed, tears threatening to stream down her face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she pleaded.

“You’ve been in my home, you’ve rifled through my belongings, and now one of my agents is delivering missives addressed to _you_ to my flat. What _secret_ are you holding?” he snarled, his voice raised. 

“I paid you a kindness _willingly_ , and this is the thanks it bought me?” she spat, her heart clenching tight and the tears falling free. “You know what? Bugger this.” She turned to Flynn. “Welcome home,” she said with a wobble in her lip before turning to Anduin last. “You can stay if you want, but I’m going back to the Keep.” 

She snatched the note and pushed past Mathias, throwing open the loose floorboard and scrambling into the crawlspace, slamming the trap door behind her before running back down the tunnel as fast as her feet could carry her. She ignored the pleading shouts of “Lass!” fading away behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up changing the direction of the back half of this chapter and now poor Tae needs a hug. 
> 
> I may not post tomorrow as I will be working. It depends on how far I get tonight before I pop off for bed. I'm really hoping to have this done WAY before the 26th, which is the completion deadline I have set for myself.
> 
> Comments are loved, appreciated and they Welcome Flynn safely home.


	4. A Leap of Faith

In a dim corner of the Gilded Rose, Waltion sat with two ledgers and an ornate cheque book in front of him along with a mug of strong coffee. Business was slower in the late morning with only a Darnassian refugee couple patroning an early lunch, giving him the time to sort through expense documents for the inn before he could polish the recruitment report due to Renzik later that evening. He jotted a few calculations on a napkin before penning the figures into the book with his silver tipped dip pen. 

He was pleased to note that since the end of the war, the dining room and bar had picked up considerably with the champions returning from Kul Tiras. The inn had been packed full almost every night, and there wasn’t an empty bed in the past three weeks. It made things easier on him and his innkeeper Allison, knowing they would be comfortable at least for a short time.

Waltion leaned back in his chair, taking a puff from his pipe as he closed the first ledger and traded it out for the second, his recruitment book. He had just opened to the current page of rosters when he noticed Renzik walking through the dining room towards his table with a bounce in his step.

“Hey Freemore,” he said as he approached the elder man’s table. “How’s business?”

“Busy on the dinner rush, thankfully,” Walton muttered around his pipe, glancing back down to his work.

“Say, that batch of newbies you sent through ain’t been half bad, especially the demon hunter. I tell ya, I doubted the choice at first, but man, can she tear up a dummy. And eager to volunteer for missives. She’s definitely been a surprise, that’s for sure.”

“That’s why I’ve been doing this for as long as I have, Shiv,” the old man lifted his gaze back to the goblin. “I’m good at my job.”

Renzik flicked his eyes between the recruiter and his book thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t mind passing me that report, would ya?”

Waltion furrowed his brow as he turned the book to him. “Haven’t had the chance to finish combing through it. I was going to drop it by a bit later this evening.” 

“Eh, no worries. Thought I’d try to get ahead of the paperwork in the office, since the Boss’ll be back this afternoon.”

The old man lifted his head and quirked an eyebrow. “The Horde released him?”

“Yeah, got word about a week ago. He’s packed on some vrykul ship,” Renzik replied, digging his pinky in his ear. “And you know Shaw. Back at the desk as soon as he’s across the gangplank.”

“Yes,” Waltion hummed, leaning back in his chair and cradling his pipe with his hand thoughtfully. Pathonia used to do the same thing, strolling right into SI:7 the next day like she hadn’t been held for a fortnight by whichever enemy was the flavor of the month. He took a puff of smoke and tried not to think of all the toils and turmoils his grandson had to have bottled inside all these years. He closed the open book in front of him and nudged it across to Renzik. “Take it. It’s not my most impressive work, but it’s complete.”

“Thanks, pal,” Renzik nodded as he took the ledger and tucked it under his arm. “I’ll give it a once over for ya when I get back to the office.”

“Much obliged, Shiv.” The older gentleman pushed himself from his seat and grabbed his cane. “I’ll follow you out. It seems I have errands to run.” He nodded at Allison, who came to clear the bookkeeping and his coffee mug from his table with a knowing smile. 

At the entrance to the Gilded Rose, Waltion parted ways with Renzik, taking a left to head out to the path outside the district on his way to Fragrant Flowers to pick up a few buds for the cemetery. The Gumps had been kind to him, ever since Pathonia’s passing. 

“Off to see your lost loves today, Waltion?” Felecia asked as she snipped his order from the bushels behind the counter. 

“An impromptu visit, dear,” he replied with a soft smile. “The boy comes home this afternoon.” He never revealed his entire story to the shopmaid, only his innkeeper Allison knew the full extent of his secrets, but Felecia had threatened to not sell him flowers for a month for not offering up some form of an explanation. To her, Waltion only had one living family member, a grandson serving with the 7th Legion.

“A little late to be returning from the war, isn’t he?” she asked, handing him two white roses and one red, the stems cut neatly just above the leaves and the thorns nipped off. “Wasn’t the armistice signed ages ago? We’ve had a run of champions and soldiers in here buying up bouquets for their mothers and sweethearts for weeks, now.”

“I’m just glad he’s coming home at all,” Waltion muttered bittersweetly. He passed her five gold coins, much more than the cost of the order, but he believed in taking care of those who took care of him. He gave a small bow as he ducked out of the shop with his purchase and ambled along the path back towards the center of the city.

He crossed past the Cathedral of Light to enter the cemetery, the late morning sun a pleasant warmth upon his face. He paused at a pair of matching stones, dropping one of the white roses into the holder between them. He placed a soft hand against the stone of his daughter’s grave and gave a slight nod to her husband’s. Gone too soon, the both of them, and still one of the few things he held against Pathonia.

He moved further down the path, veering off towards a large oak tree shading a lone black granite headstone. The inscription was faint, meant to be left forgotten. He had paid the groundsman a month or so back to add a small flower vase to the gravesite, and added an extra coin to remain silent on the name of the benefactor if asked. He placed the red rose in the holder, next to a fairly fresh black one that looked like it had been left a few days ago. 

Waltion had one last stop on his tour of the graveyard, one more flower to distribute. He made his way down the path, further into the grounds and not far from Queen Tiffin’s memorial, stepping past headstones he never bothered to read the names inscribed upon. Tucked against the wall, a grand marker stood with a raven etched into the granite. He placed the last rosebud into the crystal vessel nestled on the side.

“Light bless us, he’s coming home, Path,” he muttered to the grave. “It never gets any easier. He’s become too like you, I suppose. But the boy is coming home.” As he always did, he touched his fingertips to his lips and brushed the gloved hand upon the stone before turning away.

He ducked down a narrow passageway off the rows where his beloved was laid to rest, leading down towards the Harbor. The bells in the square chimed once, marking the thirteenth hour, still early afternoon. He pulled his pipe from his inner coat pocket along with a thin packet holding the last bits of his tobacco, packing the bowl with the remnants before taking a test draw. 

Waltion stayed close to the wall as he migrated down the row of docks. Spotting the King’s horse tied to a hitchpost not too far off, he settled against the stone, lighting his pipe and taking a few puffs to hold the embers. He was close enough to have a clear view of the ship as it made landfall, but far enough away to not be noticed watching.

He found the figures of the King and Lady Jaina easy enough, waiting for a ship out on the horizon to pull into port, but didn’t recognize the man with them. He had at least a good head’s worth of height above the King, his tied-back hair a contrasting chestnut auburn against the two blonds. He observed how the stranger was wringing his hands and fidgeting in impatience as he pulled a drag from the pipe settled at the corner of his mouth.

It was another full chime of the bells when the boat settled against the dock, gangplank lowered before the welcoming party. Waltion’s breath caught at the sight of the fiery red head of hair standing at the makeshift ramp. His brow furrowed as he watched the scene before him, the stranger pushing his way through, nearly sending the King into the water to throw himself into an embrace around his grandson. Mathias froze for only a moment before wrapping his arms around the man almost intimately. 

“A leap of faith,” the old man muttered to himself around his pipe. He bowed his head and turned back for the steps, leaving the group to their reunion to head towards Old Town to duck into the Pig and Whistle to replenish his packet of Cellar Reserve pipe tobacco from Erika.

Waltion made his way across the city at a leisurely pace, feeling a bit lighter with the knowledge that his grandson was back in Stormwind and safe. He took his time returning to the Rose, packing his pipe with fresh leaf and savoring the first pull. He entered his inn and ambled to the bar, noting a few patrons enjoying an early supper.

“Go down to the docks to watch the prodigal son return, did you?” Allison teased softly as he approached, not looking from her task of washing bar glasses. “Mail,” she gestured at the pile of envelopes on the corner of the bar. He thumbed through them absently.

“Your talents in eavesdropping astound me, my dear. Tell me again why you never let me recruit you?” Waltion replied with a smirk. “You would make an excellent Third Finger.”

“And work for _him_?” the innkeeper snorted. “No, thank you. You know he stiffs my barmaids, yeah?”

“And yet they still manage to find an extra coin in their purse at the end of the night, regardless,” he muttered, handing the parcel of letters and bills back to her. 

“You enable him,” she said pointedly as she started to line the glasses neatly along the shelves behind the bar. 

“So I’ve been told before.” Waltion leaned against the wood and turned to scan the room to take stock of the early patrons, his eyes falling on the lit table opposite to the darkened one in the corner that he favored. The man he spied at the docks sat swirling a glass half full of amber liquid as he twirled what looked like a blade of grass absently between his fingers.

“Oh, him,” she said softly as she finished her chore and folded her arms against the bar. “Came in about twenty minutes ago. I had to scoot him away from your table.”

“Did he pay for his drink, or run a tab?”

“Tab, why?”

He gestured for the receipt, noting a cheap rum scrawled on the note. “Run another under the house,” he instructed as he discarded the piece of parchment. “No more bottom drivel, top shelf for him and his friend if you wouldn’t mind. I’ll make sure Anna gets an adequate commission for handling the table.”

“How do you know he’s waiting on someone?” Allison narrowed her eyes with raised suspicion and raised an eyebrow.

“It’s my job to know these things,” Waltion answered with a wink. “Hand me my book, dear, and pour me a cup of tea when you get a moment, no hurry.” 

Allison passed him a leather bound sketchbook that he had squirreled away under the bar along with his pen case. He tucked the tome under his arm and clacked his cane along the wooden floor, pausing to glance over at the younger man who had lifted his gaze to him. Waltion gave a pleasant nod and crossed to settle himself at his preferred corner table, positioned to see the entirety of the room as he opened to a fresh page to begin sketching.

Two bell chimes had passed by the time Waltion had filled a page with an amber-scratched portrait of the stranger at the adjacent table and the dining room had packed with a dull roar of a busy dinner rush. He had exchanged the stubby pigmented drawing pencil for his dip pen, gracefully inking the piece with weighted black lines, glancing every so often at the stranger as he noted a second glass of rum being delivered to his table. He reached over to take a sip of his tea as his keen hearing heard the feather-soft steps of a familiar pair of boots stopped at the threshold of the establishment.

Waltion lifted his gaze to find Mathias scanning the room, his glass green eyes falling on him and narrowing. He lifted an eyebrow challengingly, setting the teacup back on his saucer and returning to his drawing. The older man smirked, knowing his grandson would have preferred to be in the shadow of the table he was currently occupying. 

He subtly glanced up again once he sensed that Mathias’ attention had left him, watching him join the young stranger at the nearby table, flagging down their barmaid. Waltion filed away their dance around each other: how they sat around a corner of the table, his grandson’s bow of his head, their hushed conversation. He let out a small chuckle in reminiscence. Suddenly Mathias was eighteen years old again, sat at the same table with a wiry, black-haired boy the same age, their heads inclined in an intimate exchange of mischief and fondness.

Waltion gathered up his belongings, pushing himself from his seat with the aid of his cane and made his way down the line of filled barstools to the end of the bar, motioning for Allison. “Bring me Anna’s purse if you would, please,” he said as she approached, taking the book and pen case from him to stow next to the inn’s ledger in his cubby under the bar. She placed the leather pouch on the lacquered slab of the barmaid’s station in front of him. He noted her widened eyes as he counted out twenty gold pieces to add to Anna’s tips.

“Enabler,” she chided with a sigh, placing the leather pouch back in its place behind the bar. “You off for the night, love?”

The old man nodded. “Go ahead and leave the till for the morning, dear. I’ll tend to it so that I can add in their tab.”

“How do you like that?” Allison remarked as she flicked a glance between Mathias’ table and the gentleman next to her. “I never thought I’d see the day,” she added fondly. 

“Yes, well,” Waltion muttered, bowing his head, “we all deserve a second chance, don’t you think? Even him.” The girl reached over and gently covered his hand with her own, giving a soft squeeze.

“Sleep well, love,” she smiled warmly before moving off to get another round of drinks started for a pair of cadets at the far end of the bar.

“I think I will,” he said to himself as he glimpsed the pair deep in conversation without a thought of the rest of the room around them before turning to the door next to the bar, unlocking it and stepping inside to climb the steps to his apartment above the inn.

###

Taelia sat perched in the giant recessed window of Anduin’s study, watching the warm lights of the city below. She felt numb, the tears having dried up an hour ago. She just breathed, unmoving. There was no fire in the hearth, not a single candle lit. She let the darkness surround her in an odd comfort as she kept her eyes fixed on Old Town. She took a deep, shuddering breath, her chest heavy as she replayed those last fateful moments that crashed down on her in the flat.

She barely registered when Anduin approached her from the secret passage. She didn’t feel his hand on her shoulder moving to the back of her neck. She didn’t let herself lean into his touch. She didn’t hear him beckon her to bed. All she could do was sit and watch the stillness of his kingdom as she clutched the note in her hand summoning her to the Trade District tavern at the first bell of the next afternoon.

@}-->\--

Taelia looked herself over in the floor-length mirror in Anduin’s bedchamber, assessing her outfit. She had found a white cotton shirt in her pack, along with her favorite leather bolero vest that buttoned just under her bust. She had tucked her fitted dusky green trousers into her clunky cadet's boots. Fleetingly she wondered if she should have asked for something fancier, but decided against it. She pulled the small leather throng she had stolen from Anduin’s bedside table from her wrist to tie her hair back in a tuft, pulling the front strands to frame her face. 

She pulled herself away from the mirror, hearing the bell toll in the distance. She only had a half hour to cross the city. Taking a deep breath, she picked up the note from the sideboard near the door, tucked it into her belt and left the room, pulling the door shut behind her.

She made it to the entrance of the tavern with ten minutes to spare, only needing to check her map twice on the way. She paced a few times in front of the inn before squaring her shoulders and entering, finding it fairly empty for the hour. Two tables sat occupied by commonfolk enjoying a light lunch and ignoring her. The innkeeper, however, glanced up at her entrance. 

“Welcome to the Gilded Rose, what can I do you for?” the tavern keep asked, washing her hands under the bar. Taelia approached, pulling the parchment from her belt.

“I’m supposed to meet someone here,” she explained. “I wasn’t given a name to ask for, I’m afraid.” The innkeeper’s face broke into a bright grin.

“Yeah, he’s expecting you, love,” she replied, inclining her head towards the door off the bar. “Go on up, it’s open and up the stairs,” she added with a wink. “And good luck.”

Taelia nodded at the knowing look and turned to cross through the door. She climbed the staircase and knocked on the door, poking her head in at the beckoning call. 

“Come on in, child,” the old man said as he set a tea tray on the low table between the ornate divan and the hearth. “Miss Fordragon, if I’m not mistaken?”

“Taelia is fine,” she replied with a tentative smile. She closed the door behind her and took in the room. Books, photographs and trinkets littered every surface of the modest flat, nearly overwhelming her as she looked around her in curiosity. 

“Well, it doesn’t do to lurk in doorways,” he chided gently. “Please, come sit.”

She moved into the living space, seating herself on the edge of the couch, still glancing about her, trying to take it all in before settling her gaze on the gentleman seated on an armchair adjacent. His silvery hair was crowned in white on top and his face was framed with a neatly trimmed beard, the tips of his moustache curled, not unlike Shaw’s. He wore a velvet coat of burgundy and a black ascot at his neck. A gold capped cane rested against his armrest.

“I see you transcribed my invitation well enough,” he said as he began to pour the tea into delicate cups trimmed with white roses. 

Taelia felt a flush to her cheeks. “Not really,” she admitted sheepishly. “Mathias did.”

The old man’s eyebrows raised, wrinkling his forehead. “And how well did that go over?” he asked.

She shook her head. “It didn’t. Set him off into a right snit, actually.” 

“As I’m sure it did,” he hummed. “Where are my manners, Lass. You can call me Waltion,” he introduced himself, placing his hand above his heart and nodding a small bow as he settled back into his seat. 

Taelia worried her bottom lip. “He calls me that,” she said softly, inhaling a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, we had a rather rough night.” She grew quiet for a moment before tilting her head. “How did you know I’d be at his flat?”

Waltion winked and gave her a knowing smirk. “A good spy doesn’t reveal his secrets, my dear” he replied.

“So you work for him?” she asked, reaching over and taking her teacup, blowing over the steaming liquid before chancing a sip. 

“I’ve been the Master Recruiter for the Assassin’s Guild since long before he inherited the role of Spymaster, Miss Fordragon.”

“Inherited?” she inquired, a furrow growing in her brow.

“His Gran,” he clarified simply, inclining his head towards one of the photographs lining the mantle above the hearth. 

Taelia placed her teacup back on its saucer and rose, glancing back as if asking permission. Waltion gave a nod and she stepped to inspect the portraits. Her eyes fell on the familiar face of the woman in the S.E.L.F.I.E. she found in Mathias’ desk back at the flat, only younger. She still didn’t smile, but she looked less severe, her hair tied loosely back in a small chignon, her eyes softer. 

“Pathonia?” she asked, turning her head back to him. 

“I assumed you had followed me to inspect the grave that day,” he muttered fondly. He used his cane to lift himself up from the chair to stand next to her as she glanced back to the picture. “She was my salvation,” he recounted. “She pulled me from the stocks and I loved her every day for it. She was also a cruel and fickle woman, and I loved her despite it,” he said bittersweetly.

Taelia turned her attention back to the old man, a sad smile upon his lips as he looked down at her. She brought her gaze to the next photograph. She found a bright and happy family: a fiery red-headed girl, her face littered with freckles and laughing heartily next to a chestnut haired man a head taller than her, placing a kiss on top of her hair. In her arms was a wailing infant, a dust of ginger hair on his head. 

“My daughter,” he said fondly.

“She’s beautiful,” she whispered in awe. “What happened to them?” she asked cautiously.

Waltion exhaled a heavy sigh. “Pathonia happened,” he said in a low voice. Taelia tore her glance from the photograph to find his smile had fallen as he stared at the photograph. “I _loved_ my daughter, doted on her. And she loved her family, fiercely. Especially the boy.”

Taelia felt her heart pound in her ears. “That’s Mathias,” she asked hesitantly, “isn’t it?”

The elder gentleman nodded. “I still don’t recall exactly how that whole nasty business came about, but I’ll never forget that night. I was still her mother’s second, and one of the Guild’s couriers delivered a message to me in Pathonia’s hand. When I got to the flat, she had no qualms in confirming my worst nightmare. She took everything I held dear from me that night.

“You have to understand, girl, my daughter defied Pathonia simply by marrying that boy. She felt that _familial relations_ could be used against us, and the Organization. That’s why she did everything in her power to keep us a secret. 

“I’ll never know if he truly was a traitor or not, but she had him marked as one. Pathonia sent the girl, as her master assassin, to take him out. To kill her own husband.” Taelia heard him swallow hard. “And she failed.”

Taelia’s mouth fell open in shock. “Wait, I know this...” she trailed, a realization coming over her. It was something Flynn had mentioned to her over pastries on the roof of her flat in Boralus, not long after he and Mathias had started seeing each other. “Mathias’ first assignment was the target that his mother failed to kill.” She looked between the photographs in horror, the pieces clicking into place, before she looked back at Waltion, a tear streaming her cheek. “He doesn’t know, does he?” she gasped.

Waltion shook his head, gravely. 

“How could she do such a thing?” she asked. “He was just a little boy.”

“She wanted a successor she could influence without outside interference, I’m afraid,” he replied. “Not that it always worked, mind you.” He reached up and pulled a third photograph from the mantle and set it in her hands. She recognized the dining hall of the inn downstairs, a pair of boys sat at a table in the corner with their heads inclined towards each other conspiratorially. 

Taelia pointed at the shorter male, his cropped black hair sticking up in all directions. “Who’s that? I saw him in a S.E.L.F.I.E. in Mathias’ flat.” 

“I know you did, Lass,” he winked. “That would be Edwin, the son of a mason’s foreman. Mathias chased that boy all over this very city whenever he had the chance, all the way into adulthood.” Waltion took the picture gingerly from her. “Pathonia tried for years to get him to end it with the lad, even through the wars, but he always found a way back to him.” 

He placed the picture back onto the mantle and stared at it sadly. “When he took over the trade for his father and was commissioned to rebuild the city, she showed her final hand. Pathonia whispered in the nobles’ ears to withhold the stonemason's pay so that they would revolt.” He bowed his head and moved to lower back into the armchair. “When Edwin died, something died in Mathias, too,” he said gravely. 

Taelia turned to regard the frames one by one before turning back to him. “How could you stay with her? All of this…” she trailed in disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell him?”

“And face Pathonia’s wrath?” he scoffed. “She would have had me killed for revealing her secrets. And then she would have killed _him_ for spite.”

“But, she died. Surely you could have--”

“Mathias is the product of his grandmother’s upbringing,” Waltion interrupted. “He wouldn’t have believed me for the poison she’d filled his head with. I would have still ended up dead, be it by his hand or one of his operatives.” She grew quiet and thoughtful. “Now, Lass,” the old man brightened. “Tell me about the lad.”

Taelia furrowed her brow a moment and tilted her head. “Flynn?” She watched as he nodded for her to continue as he reached for his saucer, taking a sip of tea. “He’s an idiot,” she remarked fondly, looking anywhere but to Waltion. “He’s brash, and he doesn’t ever shut his gob. He’s resourceful, and kind. He’s got a heart bigger than the whole of Azeroth and damn, does he wear it on his sleeve.” She paused and let out a watery chuckle before sobering, letting her eyes fall on the elder gentleman’s face. “And he _loves_ your grandson, more than anythin’.”

“I think I should like to meet him,” he replied thoughtfully. “One day, perhaps.” 

Taelia swept her fingers of the stray tears still staining her cheeks. “I think I should get back,” she said softly, stepping toward the man. She bent down and pressed a chaste kiss against his cheek as he reached up and took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Thank you,” she whispered. 

Waltion nodded. “No, Lass. Thank you, for giving this sad old man a bit of sorely missed company.” She saw herself out of the flat, an idea turning in her head quickly forming into a plan. 

Taelia raced across the city, hoping that her feet remembered the route to take to get to the docks. Flynn would be checking the small carrack they were to take on their voyage in a few days, getting himself familiar with the ship before his crewmen joined him in the morning. She spotted him as she flew down the steps from Lion’s rest, sitting on the poop deck’s rail in front of the helm, shirt discarded and untangling ropes. She broke into a sprint, skidding at the gangplank, huffing.

“Permission to come aboard, Captain,” she called, panting for breath. 

Flynn looked up from the loose rigging and smiled. “Permission granted, Quartermaster!” he crowed. She skittered across the plank and threw herself into a hug around her best mate. “You seem in a better mood,” he observed, holding her at arms length. “Everything went well at the Rose, I take it?”

She nodded, biting her bottom lip. “Learned a lot,” she admitted. “Probably more than I should have, to be honest. Listen, is Mathias at the flat?”

“Nah, he’s in his office. Anduin tried to order him to take the day, but you and I both know he won’t follow that order, no matter how hard Anduin might press his buttons about it.” Flynn’s face softened and he sighed. “He’s right tore up about how he treated you, love.”

Taelia tried not to wince. “Me too. When do you think he’ll be done?”

“A bell’s chime or so?”

A great smile broke across her face “Plenty of time. Say, you don’t mind staying away for a bit? I really should go and see him on my own.” 

“Plenty of time for what?” he folded his arms and raised an eyebrow with raised suspicion. 

“To hop a portal to Boralus and grab something from my flat?” She scrunched her nose pleadingly.

“Yeah, I have plenty to do here. I won’t be headed home for at least three bells.”

Taelia squealed, reaching up to take Flynn’s face in her hands and pressing a sound kiss to his mouth. “You’re the best,” she whispered as she turned and ran off towards the Mage Tower.

@}-->\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to hold it together, I really am. I promise. Hopefully some questions were answered, and maybe a few more left unspoken. Just a small epilogue left and finally one of my muses will get his chance in the POV limelight.
> 
> Comments are, as always, welcomed, appreciated, and loved as they give Mathias all-consuming hugs that he tries to squirm out of.


	5. These Little Wonders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *** If you have read the original posting of Chapter 4, Huzzah! you got a sneak peak! Not really, I just realized later in the day after I posted it that the last scene would be better situated at the beginning of this last chapter. SO: if you have already read that in the last day, I would suggest skipping to the first @>\-->\-- break. I mean, unless you really want to read that same scene over. ***

Taelia walked briskly back across the city. After hastily greeting Cyrus, much to his protesting, it didn’t take her long to find what she was looking for in the detritus of her room among the haphazard books of scraps and photographs, placing the S.E.L.F.I.E. in a frame that Flynn had carved for her ages ago along with a hastily scribbled inscription. She had wrapped it in a piece of brown paper she had found in the harbormaster’s office, giving Cyrus a tight hug and ducking back through the portal to Stormwind.

She felt a ball of nerves rolling in knots in her stomach. She didn’t know if Mathias had returned yet, and she knew she was working herself up in a snit, but it was too important.

Soon enough, she stood before the familiar door marked number seven. She held a deep breath and softly knocked on the door in the same pattern as the night before and waited. After several quiet moments, she heard the lock click and she took a step back. The door opened, just a cautious crack at first before swinging wider, the spymaster standing before her guiltily.

“Lass?” he choked.

“Hi,” she breathed with a small smile. “Can I come in?”

Mathias stood aside as she crossed the threshold, shutting the door behind them. She stepped to the table, placing the package on the smooth surface, dragging her fingertips from it as she took in the room. The dirty dishes were piled in the sink unwashed and crumbs littered the table.

“You lot didn’t even clean up,” she mused softly, trying to keep the tears in. “What would you idiots do without me?” she asked softly, turning to look at him. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth at the devastating sight of him.

Mathias bowed his head, averting his eyes. “Lass, I am _so_ , so sorry.”

She rushed to the spymaster, pushing her arms around his waist and burying her face in his chest as her resolve snapped, the tears flowing freely. She hiccoughed a sob when his arms wrapped around her tightly and he dropped a kiss on top of her head.

“I shouldn’t have done you like that,” he mumbled into her hair. “It wasn’t fair to you, and I know I should have listened.”

Taelia pulled back and wiped her face hastily. She studied his face a moment, finding the young man she had seen in the pictures in Waltion’s apartment. “It’s alright,” she whispered. “You couldn’t have known.” She swiped two more fresh tears away.

Mathias nodded. “So, how did your audience go?”

“Turns out you’re not the only lonely old man in this city who just needed a little company,” she let out a watery chuckle. She placed a hand over his heart thoughtfully for a moment before holding her head up and stepping away from him.

She turned and ducked into the corner of the room, feeling his eyes on her curiously. When she reached his desk, she cautiously glanced back, trying to read his temper. She gingerly opened the desk, pulling out the photographs, making sure she carefully closed the desk again. They were still free of dust. She stepped back to him next to the table, looking over the photographs before lifting her eyes back to his questioning gaze.

“These don’t deserve to be hidden away,” she began. “They’re still a part of you.” She moved to the hearth and placed them on the mantle, much like the ones at Waltion’s. She left a space between them, where the photograph of his parents would be. She turned around, finding a sad smile on his face and a tear streaming down his cheek. She moved to retrieve her parcel and handed it to him. “Go on, open it.”

He regarded her for a moment as he peeled back the wrapping. Inside the carved frame sat a photograph of himself and Flynn. The captain was leaning on the rail of a ship, looking off into the distance. Mathias was looking at Flynn with an oddly fond smirk on his face.

“Mathias and Flynn, _Wind’s Redemption_ , after Zandalar,” he read the inscription on the brown paper peeking behind the picture, lifting his eyes quizzically.

“I took that from the crow’s nest on the ‘ _Wake_ after you two came back from that treasury mission Jaina sent you idiots on,” she explained softly. “You two weren’t together yet, but Flynn wouldn’t stop blathering on about you for months beforehand. I was just taking pictures one day with my S.E.L.F.I.E. of anyone and anything, and I caught that look. Something told me you were already his and neither of you even knew it yet.”

“Lass, I don’t know what to say,” he muttered, still staring at the photograph.

Taelia gently took the frame from his fingers and crossed to place it on the mantle, just to the right of the picture of Mathias and Edwin, adjusting it just right so that it picked up the lamp light. She turned back to him with a warm, fond smile.

“Don’t thank me,” she replied with just a hint of a tease. “That’s what got us into this mess to begin with.”

@}-->\--

“Ahoy there!” Flynn called as he scurried from the crow’s nest to greet his passengers at the gangplank of the _Lion’s Whelp_. He placed his hands on his hips with a bright smile as Anduin dismounted his horse, helping Taelia down after. “Harmen, come see to their effects,” he commanded over his shoulder, motioning for the carriage hitched to the saddle of the horse.

“Aye, Cap’n,” the large Kul Tiran gunner saluted, running down the plank past Flynn to start unloading the parcels onto the dock. Anduin followed, carrying a decently sized crate of his own, the Lionhead crest stamped on the side.

“Need a hand there, lad?” Flynn asked with a smirk, nodding to the wooden box.

“Thank you, but no,” Anduin replied amiably, Taelia chuckling in his wake.

“He wants to unpack on his own,” she teased as she boarded the vessel, pausing to give Flynn a quick peck on the cheek. “He won’t even let me bring my own pack on board.”

“I don’t want to be waited upon here,” the young king protested before crossing to the entry of the deck below.

“Swailes should be down there. He can show you to your cabin,” said Flynn. “Offer still stands. I can kick Mathias out of the captain’s quarters, if you like.”

“No,” Anduin said quickly. “The captain’s cabin is meant for the captain, and that’s you. I wouldn’t put you out,” he insisted. “Taelia and I will be more than comfortable in one of the others.” He ducked under the doorway and disappeared below deck.

“Mathias is still working?” Taelia chided.

“Ah,” Flynn grimaced. “You try getting him away from his desk on a good day.” He pulled her into a one-armed hug. “Even if the current desk he’s occupying is technically mine.” He stopped and furrowed his brow a moment. “Or actually Anduin’s, if you think about it. I’ve lost track.”

The girl let out a soft snort and glanced about the deck. She slipped out from under his arm and went to lean on the portside rail, kicking off her boots. He watched her as she seemed to get lost in her thoughts, and moved to stand at her side.

“How’ve you been, love?” he asked her softly. “Haven’t seen the two of you in a few days, and I want to make sure you’re alright.”

“Better,” she admitted. “Been feeling a bit cooped up, but we wanted to give you and Mathias a little space, since we won’t have a lot of that once we cast off. Truth be told, I’m dying to get back out to sea. It’s been too long.”

“Aye, that’s my girl,” he grinned fondly.

Flynn regarded her quietly. She definitely wasn’t the same after everything that had happened to them the past few weeks. There was a new stillness to her, and he couldn’t tell if that was attributed to Anduin or Mathias’ influence. He noticed then, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips.

“How long until we weigh anchor?” she asked softly, her gaze fixed on something near the steps leading towards the upper levels of the city.

“Probably a bell or so? Still waiting for a few more to arrive.”

Taelia turned to him, her smile turning worryingly playful. “Mind doing me a solid?” she asked, biting the corner of her bottom lip.

“That depends on the favor,” he replied skeptically, folding his arms across his broad chest.

“I think I may have dropped my coin purse on the way down, somewhere up there by the second set of steps,” she said with a tilt of her head, feigning innocence.

“You’re not serious,” Flynn scoffed. “You realize I have a ship that’s making ready to leave port. There’s checks, rigging, sails, charting, briefing the crew.”

“I’d go myself, but I really should go down and rescue Anduin from all that unpacking.” She batted her eyes and jetted out her bottom lip in a mock pout. “Please, Flynn?”

Flynn opened his mouth a few times before clicking his jaw and shooting her a pointed look, leaning in and narrowing his eyes. “I’m promoting Swailes to Quartermaster,” he retorted.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she challenged.

He turned to stalk down the gangplank, calling “I just did, Powder Monkey,” over his shoulder. "Shiv," he nodded to Renzik as he passed, the goblin arriving for a brief before they set sail.

He crossed the harbor in long-legged strides, taking the first bank of steps two at a time, flicking his eyes across the ground, scanning for the lost leather pouch. He exhaled a deep sigh, placing his hands on his hips with a shake of his head. A cleared throat from the shadow under a nearby tree nestled against the stonewall drew his attention. An elderly gentleman in a velvet overcoat stood against the polished white granite, lighting a pipe.

“Oi, old timer,” he broached, stepping towards the man cautiously. “You haven’t happened to spy a leather coin purse around here? Dark brown, an anchor embossed on it?”

The older gentleman did not look up at him. He puffed his pipe to stoke the ember before settling it in the corner of his mouth, shifting his weight upon his cane. “You and I both know that there’s no coin purse,” he replied, raising an eyebrow as he lifted his eyes to the captain.

“Yeah, I’m starting to get that.” Flynn rubbed his thumb across his bottom lip thoughtfully. “Let me guess. You sent the note to Tae a few days back, didn’t you?”

“Please don’t fault the girl for indulging an old codger’s wish to meet the man who could soften a rigid Spymaster,” he said gently. He let out a mirthless chuckle. “Let her know she is welcomed at the Rose anytime she fancies on my coin.”

The captain nodded, chewing the inside of his cheek before blowing out a breath. “Well, I apologize for rudeness, but,” he hooked a thumb over his shoulder, “I really should get back before my mate’s scowl buries itself into his face and it gets stuck like that.” He didn’t fail to notice how the elder man’s brow raised, obviously impressed. “He likes to think he’s the only one with eyes in the back of his head,” he added conspiratorially. "It really is easier to let him get away with it."

“You remind me of myself at your age, lad,” the old man said wistfully, looking past the former pirate. “I, too, loved someone who had given their life to the Crown. It was to keep her head out of a hangman’s noose, in the beginning, but it turned into something much more dangerous as time wore on. And I stood by her side, through the bad more than the good and keeping secrets too dark for any sane man to think about.”

“And what happened, then?” Flynn asked, the barest hint of impatient bite to his tone.

“She died,” the man replied, “about six or seven years ago now. I’ve lost track. All I have for it now is leaving roses on her grave and saying words that fall on deaf ears when I can.”

The man kicked off the wall, his cane clacking the pavement as he approached Flynn, reaching into his jacket pocket, pulling out a delicate white rosebud. He reached out and took the captain’s hand, placing the flower in his palm and closing his fingers over it.

“Do yourself a favor, lad. Don’t let him get caught up in his unfailing loyalty to the Crown, else you’ll be leaving roses on the grave next to hers.” He took a step back. “I believe red would suit him best.” The former pirate watched the old man flick a glance past him once more before bowing his head and walking away, following the path that would take him to the Trade District.

Flynn glanced down to the rosebud left in his hand, his mind whirring. “Next to _hers_ ,” he muttered to himself.

_My grandmother was a thief, too._

__It started with a soft chuckle to himself, a bubble of laughter that couldn’t be contained as it all clicked into place. He let out a whooping holler as his glee overtook him. He watched the figure of the old man amble in the distance, growing farther away._ _

__“You sly old bugger,” he said to himself, turning and rushing back to the ship._ _

__@}-- >\--_ _

__Waltion came down the stairs of his flat and entered the side door to the tavern, placing a basket on the barmaid’s station. The inn was empty, as it was still early in mid-morning for business. Allison came up to him from wiping down a table, ducking under the tableau to take her place behind the bar, looking over the basket curiously._ _

__“Would you bring me my book, dear?” he requested. She pulled his old leather sketchbook from his cubby, handing it over. He placed it reverently into the basket next to a few framed pictures, a thick journal and an envelope, addressed in cipher. He pulled a gold key hanging on a chain from his trouser pocket and placed it on top._ _

__“What’s all this then?” the innkeeper asked inquisitively._ _

__“It's time I let her go,” he said thoughtfully. “Please stow this in the cabinet on the end, if you would, please. If the girl returns, I want you to give it to her.”_ _

__“Are you alright, love? You’re worrying me.”_ _

__“Everything is perfectly fine,” he reassured her. “Now, there’s still business to attend to. The ledgers and my pen case,” he pointed to a pair of books sticking out near the till. “And I’ll have a cup of tea when you get a moment, dear.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Flynn is no longer pestering me, I've given him his scene finally. Twit.
> 
> Our adventures are not quite over. We have a ship's journey and return to cover, what Arthas and Jaina have been up to, and Anduin and Taelia still need to have a CONVERSATION. I need to take a break to do some outlining, but I will be back hopefully soon, plus I have a 6 day weekend coming up in a mountain cabin with my family, hoping that I can escape a bit to do some writing on those days if my father in law's channel surfing doesn't completely fuck my attention span.
> 
> Thank you all so much for your lovely comments, and they are still welcome and appreciated. They tend to keep the dear captain away from the stack of steamy romance novels for a while.


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